I started coughing midway through the Women in drinks board meeting yesterday morning. I continued coughing through the Diversity@Drinks Council meeting.

At 4.30pm, I made the call to retire early from the fray, skipping the AGM and Chairman’s Drinks. Everything hurt: my joints, my eyes, my back, my throat, my head …

I caught a cab home, noticing as it drove off that my car wasn’t in the driveway. After initially (blearily) thinking it must have been stolen, I realised it was still at the kids’ school where I’d left it that morning. It’s about 20 minutes walk to the school when I’m well. I didn’t fancy doing it sick. So there’s a problem I need to face today when I struggle out of bed.

By 3am it felt like I was dying from Bubonic Plague or something.

I tossed and turned and moaned feverishly until a little voice in my head said: “Take some Nurofen, you nong!”

It helped a bit, but I still feel shocking.

My peaky health may explain why I was a bit flat on Tuesday.

I need to rally. I have Jazz in the Vines to attend on Saturday.

Cough. Splutter. Cough.

No song of the day. Too poorly.